Bleeding for Another
by Thunderxtw
Summary: Bodyguard and femme fatale meet, harboring secrets and a reluctance to trust. Lovelorn and lonely, the two start to forge a bond and unravel the odd feelings going on inside them.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note:** Hey all, I'm finally back. I sincerely apologize for my long absence. I've been going through a rather difficult time for the past several months, so it's been kinda stressing trying to write and review like I used to. No worries, though. I'm aware of all the stories I missed and I will get to those as soon as I can. To be honest, I intended to post this story after I finished one of my other fics, but I've been so anxious lately I went on and posted it anyway. This fic is one of my biggest fics yet and I've put a lot of time and attention into it, so I hope you enjoy.

The content in this story is not meant to offend or be a representation of my personal views toward the content used. Rating may go up in later chapters. I've never seen an Anna and Bruce fic before. Yeah, some may find them an odd mix, but you know somethin'? I don't care what anyone thinks. If other people can pair two characters that are nothing alike and make it work, why can't I? This fic takes place mainly in the Tekken 2 era. It is somewhat AU, so not everything is going to match or follow everything in the original canon. Be warned. Also, there will be Irish (European) and American slang in some chapters. Some of the words will be explained in the story (because it's necessary) and others won't. So, if you're clueless, just ask me.

Btw, EPS will be short for Executive Protection Specialist. That's actually a more proper term for bodyguard.

**Bleeding for Another**

**Chapter 1**

**Bruce**

The chains rattled and jangled, echoing their sounds, fueling my drive to continue like gas fueling an engine. The noise, satisfying to my ears, like the successful ring of a jackpot at a slot machine in a casino. Beneath my tapped feet, the mat vibrated from my steps, my imprints left in its surface. The mirrors wobbled and the gym lights flickered between bright and dim, as if the building was on the verge of undergoing a power surge. The air smelled of cleanser spray, of hard work and aggression, motivating me further.

Everyday, I risked it all, like a gambler laying it all on the line. Here I've risked injury and even death, but I always walked out alive, stronger, prouder, and more refined than I was when I first entered. I couldn't count how many times I've broken a bone or a pulled muscle, but like the sins of yesteryear, they healed. Every bruise, every scrap, every torn muscle I received were like symbols of pride pinned to my chest. And once I recovered, I'd return to this place--to do it all over again.

At my mercy, the heavy bag slumped forward and dangled in submission, but I wasn't about to let up yet. My kicks were like thunder, every boom shaking the core of the bag, every boom increasing with power.

My legs started to feel numb, but I kept pushing, kept kicking with everything I had and more. Soon, my nostrils picked up the stench of sweat encasing my body, but I welcomed it, for it accentuated how I hard I had pushed myself, let me know I wasn't taking any shortcuts. Most scrawny wimps I knew would have quit by the time their muscles felt a little sore, but not me. See, when I trained, I trained to the max, to the point where my body told me it couldn't go any further. To me, pain was weakness leaving the body and nothing more. Heck, sometimes my workouts were so intense, I drew a crowd and they'd wager with each other how long I could go for.

The heavy bag swung wildly one last time, giving out as it loosened from the swivel, the inner grains spilling everywhere.

A deep voice drew my attention away from what remained of the heavy bag.

"You know, the boss is gonna get mad if you keep murdering his equipment like that." Right then, I learned the voice belonged to sumo veteran Ganryu, a fellow colleague and friend of mine.

"How long have you been standing there?" I ask him without turning my head.

"Long enough to see you beat the snot outta that bag like it owes you money." He approached me, laughing.

"Shut up and hand me a towel, Ganryu."

He grabbed a pile of towels and tossed one to me. Wiping my face dry from the sweat, my eyes stole a glance at something clutched under his arm.

"What cha got there?"

Ganryu took the object from under his arm. "_Romeo and Juliet_. Such a wonderful story."

"You readin' that crap again?" My tongue clicked as I rolled my eyes.

Ganryu clasped the book over his chest and scowled at me. "It isn't crap! It's a—it's a beautiful, tragic love story. It really gets my heart pumping every time I read it. It makes me think of," he put his hand to his heart and sighed as if in a dream state, "my beloved Michelle-chan."

"Not her again. Ganryu, you really need to get your mind off of her. Ever since you saw her in the Iron Fist Tournament, she's all you ever seem to talk about outside of work."

Ganryu pointed to his nose, indicating himself. "Me? Get my mind off her?" He put his hand up, waving it in the middle of his face. "I can't do that to my soul mate. We were meant for each other. Maybe when you find yours, you'll feel the same way."

Yuck.

I, for one, knew right away that that would never happen. Destiny, fate, all that sentimental garbage he went on about was a joke; anyone who believed in any of it was just as foolish and blind to reality as he was.

"Michelle is so pretty and sounds like an angel. I'm sure there's a reason we met. I'm telling you, Bruce, it's only a matter of time before we meet again and I confess my love to her."

Every time I heard him ramble on about that sappy drivel, I cringed. If I heard him mention another word about Michelle one more time, I was going to break his neck. They had little in common, but he seemed to convince himself otherwise. Ganryu was always an oddball, but I tolerated him enough. Here in the Mishima Zaibatsu, we were personal security, working under Kazuya Mishima, training and hanging together. Now, if only I could convince him to get his mind off women and not let them invade his thoughts all the time, I'd like him a bit more.

Unlike most men, there were no women in my life. Heck, I was better off without them. I steered clear of them because they were too complicated, too troublesome for my liking. From what I gathered from friends and what I learned on the streets, they were always after what the man had instead of the man himself. Go figure.

Growing up, I didn't find much time for women and I wasn't their type for them to cling to me anyway.

I scoffed to myself.

_'Better off indeed. All I need is my job. Nothing else.' _

"Oh, I also came down here to tell you that Mr. Mishima wishes to see you right now at this minute."

"He does? All right. I'm coming."

I headed for Kazuya's office after throwing on some clothes, having to walk through redundant ballroom hallways and take an elevator just to reach him.

For all the time I had known him, I never understood why Kazuya felt he needed Executive Protection Specialists. He seemed like a tough son of a gun all on his own. Maybe he inherited that typical Mishima paranoia from his family. Then again, when one was the CEO of an enormous Japanese conglomerate like this, I suppose they'd feel they needed some protection regardless, so I didn't question his reasoning.

Kazuya had more security other than just Ganryu and me who protected him. When we weren't working, we had fill-ins take over for us. Kazuya never had us work longer than required, unless in the case of extreme emergencies.

As Kazuya's Chief Security Officer, I had the respect of most of the employees here, and that gave me a bit of an advantage, it seemed; nobody would dare provoke me or look at me the wrong way. In a sense, I was the locker room leader of the team, keeping people in line and setting examples for our would-be workers. However, with all the slander that found its way to me, many saw me as Kazuya's underling, his number one thug and personal yes-man. Yet, I never saw it like that. To me, I was just doing my job, and if nobody had enough intelligence to see that, well--to heck with them.

My relationship with Kazuya was a loyal one. He had saved my life years ago when I found myself stranded in a barren desert from a plane crash, feeding off human remains. Anybody would've just left me there to die once I ran out of bodies to gnaw on, but he didn't. After his unit rescued me from my cannibalistic lifestyle and that nightmarish one hundred degree desert, he took me in and made me a member of his private security force. When Kazuya needed me to stick around, I did, and if he didn't, I'd go home to my plain, ordinary life in the Japanese suburbs. In all honesty, I preferred to stay with Kazuya because it gave me something to do and life didn't seem as boring while I worked because I was always bound to my job. Whenever I did have the opportunity to go out, I liked to head up to the bar and shoot pool, watch sports on TV, or workout at the gym. But no matter what, serving Kazuya, the heir to the Mishima throne, an honor only few could claim, was where my life was and I was proud of that.

Although I respected Kazuya to an extent, I never approved of how he belittled everyone around him. I especially didn't appreciate how he treated me like I didn't have a brain of my own. It was a small gripe, but he told me thinking was his department and following orders was mine. Shrugging to myself, I tried to cast it aside, figuring maybe it wasn't something I was supposed to think deep into.

As I ascended over the front lobby and atrium, I noted the sore feeling in my limbs. Since my exercises were hardcore, I took ice baths like a daily dose of medicine. It was the best way to recover from aches and pains tending to settle in afterward. Once the first three minutes of agony wore off, the last seven were fine. Ice baths were incredible, almost magical in the way they healed.

Finally, I was at the top floor, hearing the electronic voice in the elevator state the obvious. My feet stepped out onto the marble, the automated doors clanking shut behind me. The office was as silent as a dead forest, but looking over I knew there was life in this room.

Behind Kazuya was Taro, an EPS like Ganryu and me, only younger. He didn't talk much outside of duty and mostly kept to himself, so I spared him of my greeting.

"Good morning, Mr. Mishima." My shoulders stiffened and I folded my hands at my waist after bowing.

He grumbled. Not once could I recall him greeting me back or cracking a smile. Maybe he felt he didn't need to. After all, with the authority he had, he could do whatever he wanted.

His fingers drummed against his desk, his other hand balled into a fist to prop up his chin. Kazuya was quiet most times, but when he spoke, everyone listened. With him, he carried an aura that demanded attention, and unless you liked yourself on the receiving end of his wrath, you were wise to acknowledge him.

"Bruce, I'm hiring some new personal security. I've managed to discover six. But, we only have room enough for three more." He spun his chair around to face the massive outdoor view overlooking the city landscape. "I would like you to go downstairs and find me three of the best candidates out of that group. I had to 'do away' with the last three because I learned they had committed the most heinous crime ever imagined."

"What's that, sir?"

"Working for my good-for-nothing father!"

Of course. He'd never let anyone work here he hadn't groomed himself, unless they proved themselves worthy enough for him to keep around. Anyone who had associated with the late Heihachi in the past either had to switch allegiances or was subject to one of Kazuya's penalties. However, he never bothered to share what those penalties were, and maybe I was better off not knowing. All I knew was that the people who underwent Kazuya's consequences nobody heard from again. Take his father for example: Kazuya had him thrown off a cliff and that was the only consequence I knew about. Such a dysfunctional family the Mishimas were.

"I should also mention that one of the recruits is female."

"A woman?" Eyes widening, I stepped closer to his desk. "You're giving a woman a chance to work here, in personal security?"

"Do you have a problem with that, Bruce?" His bushy eyebrows crinkled at me.

"It's just…you've never hired a female security officer before. No female officer has worked here ever. Why the change?"

"I am merely testing the waters. Personally, I don't think women are fit to be in that field. Don't you agree?"

"Yes, sir. Absolutely." I wasn't just saying that to kiss up. Women had no place working such dangerous jobs, let alone ones in the Zaibatsu. They weren't as strong, weren't as smart or skilled as we were. Don't get me wrong: they had their strengths, but doing what we did wasn't one of them. It was a well-known fact.

"This is a man's world after all. But after having women's rights activists breathing down my neck and turning this into a public issue, I decided to do this to shut them up. It's just one now, but if she does fine, I'll consider hiring others."

Ah, so he did it to protect the company's image. Good for him, but I couldn't help pondering over this woman and what she looked like; probably some butch weirdo with a tomboyish attitude. Women like that were common for jobs like this.

"All right, sir. May I leave now so that I can prepare for their arrival?"

"Go ahead." He waved me off.

"Thank you, sir."

"And Bruce…"

"Yes?"

"Be as hard on them as possible."

"Yes, sir."

Making my exit, I smirked and bowed to him.

My tongue hurt from all the Japanese I had to use to communicate with Ganryu and Kazuya. It wasn't my native language, so learning and mastering it was a task in itself. They did understand some English as well as some American gestures, but since I was a citizen here too, it forced me to conform to their ways. After excusing myself from Kazuya's office, I geared up, headed downstairs, and went outside for a smoke. Ganryu's absence down here meant he was off either getting ready too or robbing the vending machine again.

I hunched over on a bench, grunted, and pulled out my butane lighter. Back in America, it was never this relaxing where I could sit back and drop my guard. As a car accelerated by, my mind flashed and I reflected on how life was in that dreadful place in the US I had came from. It was once my home: a crime-hardened city saturated with hardships, unpredictable like the amount of criminals the streets bred everyday.

Life had an influence on everything; drugs and violence had taken over the city and this was when I was just a child. In my old neighborhood, drunks lied sprawled and unconscious on peoples' lawns, only to have the owners call the police to kick them off; of course, this was only if the men in blue bothered showing up. Prostitutes, with their elongated legs and overdone makeup, roamed the streets freely. The smell of tar and rotting garbage used to permeate every block to the point it'd churn my stomach. Foreclosure rates were high, and I'd seen desperate women, in wrinkled negligees, rummaging through dumpsters for a decent meal to eat. Racism ran ramped, and after awhile, the gunshots and sirens heard late at night were just background noise to me.

Japan was different, cleaner, safer, and less drab**. **After leaving that place,it seemed my days of living a life plagued by violence and starvation were officially over**. **Still, I couldn't shake the feeling of wanting to go back someday, to see old friends, to find out if anything had changed since my departure, although I had my doubts. Yes, doubts; they followed man like a stray dog without direction, because life never was as fulfilling as we wanted it. On second thought, people only returned home when there was something there for them to return to. What did I have to return to? Why go back to relive good times that never were? Nobody could answer and my gut feelings were my only guide.

Discarding the negatives, I was proud of where I came from because I set an example for the younger generation. The children were our future and didn't need to live life the way the lowlifes did. Lending my advice, I encouraged them to stay in school, respect their parents, and avoid drugs. To me, I was just a stranger, but empowering those children made them see me as their role model, and I did my best to live up to the title.

Bullyism was common where I lived and sickened me because people used to shove me around too when I was younger; whenever I saw a group of punks harassing the city's youth, my feet and fists did the talking for me to put them in place.

You couldn't talk or buy your way out of conflict in that neighborhood. You had to fight to escape, and if you tried to run, they'd catch you and make you wish you hadn't.

I was in every fight imaginable, brawling to keep my life, my shoes, or what little scrap of money I had. Day by day, I had to cope with tasting the bitter asphalt and having my face thrown against unforgiving steel fences until I had had enough. With my clothes torn, I punched, kicked, and head-butted my way into escapement and later took an interest in kickboxing. Instead of me fearing the riffraff, it was the riffraff fearing me, and I loved invoking that fear within them. As long as I was around, the petty thugs refrained from harming the innocent.

Contrary to popular belief, I didn't resent my former home. The harsh environment molded me into who I was and taught me how to survive; it was the reason I was still alive today. Even though I realized it long ago, every day I spent on this earth was a blessing.

Another car whizzing by flashed my mind back to the present.

Leaning back, I sighed and waited for the fun to start.


	2. Chapter 2

**Anna**

The insects buzzed in my ear, tickling my lobes, disrupting my daydream as I flicked them away. With the pests gone, I returned to my inner world shrouded in a white mist, imagining myself living a happier, peaceful life; no fighting, no arguing, no guns, none of that.

Hearing one loud honk of a car horn pulled me out of that fantasy, returning me to reality once more. My heart throbbed with the roar of this foreign environment, my body moving along the bustling street as I kept tight with the crowd. The breeze of the wind penetrated my suit jacket, throwing it open, cooling my nerves and skin. For one moment, it made me forget the past, made me forget the tearful nights and the nonstop bickering.

From under my fedora, I tipped my head and secured the purse slung over my arm. I was on my way to the Mishima Zaibatsu, looking forward to working there. They'd given me a specialized card and an eight-digit pin number I had to remember for proof of identity and admittance to the building. My palms were sweaty inside my leather gloves. I wish I wasn't so nervous, but I was, wanting to make a good impression.

Traffic congested the streets, leaving a few slight gaps in the road for me to squeeze through. I stayed to the right, watching the bicyclists pass, hearing the clamor of this thriving, overpopulated world, intimidating yet calming. Japan wasn't as green and didn't smell as rainy as Ireland did, but over the months I lived here, it was like a second home to me. Over time, I learned to keep pace with the clustered crowds and adapt to all the customs and etiquette.

Moreover, the Japanese loved red and so did I.

Red had many meanings behind it: anger, passion, love--just to name a few. Emotions that stirred the human blood. They described me so well. Red was the sight I often saw, was the blood I had on my fingertips from the fights I had with my sister indoor and out, the flush on my cheeks, the roses of the Dublin gardens, the taste of fruit on my tongue from the trees of my homeland. Red was my signature, my essence, what I felt, and what I believed. Red was everything around me.

The country had everything, from exciting festivals to cheery locals.

Best of all: no Nina. No longer did I have to worry about finding bombs rigged to my car or having grenades lobbed at me through opened windows.

My sister and me had a fierce rivalry erupting over our father's exclusive love for her; the stare downs we used to have were as cold as the River Liffey, our fights as endless as the Irish countryside. The street was a war zone whenever our paths crossed; we charred sidewalks, tore up roads, wrecked buildings, and caused thousands of dollars worth of property damage. It was a miracle our battles hadn't killed anyone and we were too sly for the police to identify and catch us. We'd live to fight another day, but I grew tired of fighting and just wanted out to pursue something normal.

Love was my next destination, but the backbiting, the monosyllabic conversations, the lies, and the drunken atmosphere I had put up with for far too long turned it into an emotional train wreck. Throughout my interactions with the opposite gender, I learned a lot.

Men were so two-dimensional, only existing to strut their power and masculinity. My ex-boyfriends back in Ireland were all like that; they'd stare at themselves in the mirror all the time, admiring their medium built bodies, hardly giving me a glance. They'd tell me to cook and not talk, to clean and not complain as they lazed in their armchairs and scrunched their faces at me. To this day, one of my biggest regrets was not putting my foot down when I should've, whishing I wasn't so faithful and kind. Their satisfaction was more important to me than my own and it had almost undone me. To them, I was a footnote, insignificant like the dirt underneath their feet, and because of that, we had to part ways. Breakup after breakup was what drove me away from the hopeless romantic delusions I used to have.

Sometimes, I felt I had the words of what men could do to me stamped across my forehead; they were as indelible as a stain on my blouse, as the memories of years before. Naivety had done me in too many times, leaving me shattered and feeling damaged beyond repair. After a while, I decided I wouldn't go down that path again. From that day forth, I was a man's doormat no longer.

With time, things changed, however. If any man dared to hurt me or any other woman the way my exes did, they were in for a rude awakening. It was a new beginning in the chapter of my life. There I was—Anna Williams, the devious damsel, seducing men's hearts before stomping them into the ground. Love was just a game where I'd con the most despicable men into liking me, exploit their weaknesses, and break their hearts. They'd wake up the next morning to find their stuff stolen, their bodies bound to the bed, and the absence of a woman whose real name they never knew. Of course, I never lowered myself to sleeping with them. I'd seek them out in clubs and bars, turn on the charm, and do what I had to do.

On finishing the job, I'd make sure I left no traces behind leading back to me and I'd give whatever I took away to the women they had hurt or people less fortunate. There was always the likelihood of endangering my life, but I liked the thrill of danger and always brought my own "tools" to the dance if I needed them. In those days, if I saw a hunk, I'd make him mine with little effort. No man was too hard for me to snag.

Those were the days--but now it was time to get serious.

At first, I didn't know what I wanted to do with my life, but it came to me: I wanted to work as a bodyguard. Sure, it may've sounded strange, but I didn't see why it wasn't feasible. I mean, I wasn't built like a tank, but I was strong, agile, and had the stamina for it. Nobody in my family had done it before and I was always one for originality. The skills were there and I was loyal enough to care for a life other than my own. Furthermore, I had to prove to myself I didn't need the life my father had tried to force on me. Father believed I couldn't do anything because I wasn't like my sister, and once, he had me believing the same thing. However, I had to prove him wrong, show him his second-born was capable of more than he assumed. As a bonus, I could excel at something Nina hadn't, an accomplishment only I could claim.

Lucky for me, I went to college, unlike my sister, who couldn't make it past secondary school because she dropped out. Playing it smart made my career options much more versatile**. **

I had my career down, but it seemed my love life was over for now. All the men I met shared the same narcissistic qualities and chauvinistic mentalities.

The only boyfriend I had who stood out from the rest was Lee Chaolan, a silver-haired, tuxedo-wearing stud. He had wealth, class, and charm; anything a woman could want in a man. Alas, he was too good for me to have all to myself. No woman could resist the magnetism of a self-made playboy; his promiscuous nature led to me finding my belongings violated and someone's lingerie in our bedchambers when I wasn't around. The room always stunk of sex and the array of evidence Lee had tried to sweep under the rug when I confronted him.

My body tensed and my heart raced at the thought of him holding another woman, kissing her throat, and doing things to her that I thought were exclusive between him and me. I tried to soften the voice I'd almost lost in yelling, tried to convince myself what Lee did behind my back was just a phase he'd grow out of. Against my hopes, he showed no sincerity to stop seeing other women, and at that point, I gave him a choice: them or me. Lee chose them, so I left, brokenhearted and alone once again. Same sappy ending as the rest.

With the vows we made, I always thought Lee would forever love me and we'd wed and live in a castle somewhere, just like in the fairy tales. Boy, was I in need of a reality check back then. It was Lee who made me believe in love again and convinced me to give up conning. However, after we fell out, my faith in love diminished, and I decided to move on and never con again. If I had my heart broken one more time, I felt I'd cease to exist.

Despite my ill will toward Lee, my visits to the beach made me think of him as if nothing happened between us. When I closed my eyes, I could see myself at Lee's beachside manor, feel his touch on my wrist, and hear his voice in my ear. Even though I hated him, he had instilled himself within me as if he'd cast a spell I couldn't reverse. It felt like only yesterday when Lee's lips last touched me, his tongue prodding against mine, our emotions soaring like gannets over the Skellig Islands. It upset me every night because I couldn't forget him, no matter how much I forced myself to.

Through it all, I tried to focus on the good more than the bad when I stayed with Lee. I remember how I used to lift my sarong overhead and let it waft in the breeze, the sun on my shoulders, my smile bright. The gentle slopes, the shallow shores, the apple martinis I used to sip on; it was all good fun, but like the lanterns Father used to hang outside back at home, the fun eventually lost its flare when I discovered Lee cheating on me. After that, my world was dark, and I felt that flare would never come back.

Because of Lee, I moved to Asia after we crossed paths in a cafe many months ago. He was on a business trip at the time, and he had such a way with words I couldn't tell if he was the real deal or just full of it. Regardless, I fell for him, and in no time, we were in each other's arms, cuddling behind closed doors. He had said that Asia was full of happiness, promises, and unlimited possibilities when asking me to relocate there. That was wonderful then, but now it sounded like something I'd read off a traveling brochure. Men were clever like that, yet now I knew better than to fall for cheap catchphrases stolen off a folded piece of paper. With nothing in Europe to return to, Asia was my new home.

Lee had told me about working in the Zaibatsu when we were still together. He had a job there and he figured it'd keep us closer if we were able to work at the same place. Lee had put in a good word for me; he was able to get me in because he had some pull in the company through his relation to the Zaibatsu CEO. Although I was grateful, Lee and me later quarreled and broke up. Out of frustration over his demeaning position as secretary, I learned Lee had a dispute with the CEO, left the company, and disappeared. The news made me smile and suited me just fine because I wouldn't have to worry about seeing his face now.

If only I had a friend other than myself I could confide in, maybe life wouldn't seem as glum and depressing. Sure. I had had boyfriends, but not _real_ friends. As unreal as it sounded, I had no idea how pleasant that luxury was. I longed to have someone who could talk to me, open up, and understand me like a normal human being. If they gave me the respect I wanted, I'd give them the same in return. Then again, I thought I was better off without friends. I guess I feared we'd fight over something stupid and renounce our friendship in the aftermath. Sometimes, remaining alone was best, just to avoid having to deal with that nonsense.

Like most people, I wasn't without my critics. Some didn't approve of my revealing attire or outspoken attitude, but I didn't care. I was the raging wildfire nobody could tame and I'd burn for as long as I liked. So what if I was a little rowdy, flirty, and adventurous? These were different extensions of who I was, the qualities mocked and frowned upon by society I gladly embraced.

I feigned having a cocky attitude to hide my insecurities, my true feelings, my flaws, and my deepest, darkest secrets.

_'Don't let them know who you are, Anna. They'll eat you alive. Hide your faults. Disregard your feelings. Live a lie, if you have to. You are who you are, and it's none of their business.' _What the voice in my head kept telling me was the only way to live and I had to learn to accept it.

My thoughts returned to the real world as my stroll ended.

The Zaibatsu loomed over me like the many stony, stark castles of Ireland, excluding the wall-encasing moss and rocky pinnacles scattered in the foreground. I slid the card I had through, but an error message flashed across the interface of the tiny screen on the door. My eyes narrowed and I tried it again, earning the same result.

_'Why isn't it working? Is the damn thing broke?'_

"Need help?"

The voice talking to me made me turn to its owner: an African American with a Mohawk; defiantly not something I saw everyday, let alone here in Japan. It seemed like a long time since I last heard someone address me in English. His uniform left his physique to my imagination. If it weren't for the extra height my pumps gave me, I'd swear he was much taller than me. He had hands large enough to crush rocks and the mass of someone I wouldn't want to run into late at night on the streets. Despite that, he had a friendly presence about him. He was a decent-looking man, trimmed goatee with sideburns and all, but he wasn't my type. Besides, men were far from my mind right now; well, at least courting them was.

"Nah, that's ok. I got it." Curse my inflated ego for always getting the best of me. Nowadays, I was too proud to accept a man's help. They just didn't know how to take hints anymore.

I slid the card through the slot again, failing.

"Here." He reached over to take the card from me before I could decline, flipped it over, and slid it through; wouldn't you know it, the machine accepted it. "You were holding the card up on the wrong side."

"Bollocks…" I murmured, lowering my head in shame.

Leave it to a man to make me feel stupid. It was obvious he didn't mean to and had done this out of courtesy, but I still hated him for it. At least he hadn't laughed at my ignorance.

"Um, thanks."

"No problem." He nodded, handed my card back to me, and seated himself on the beach near the door.

I punched in my pin number and unlocked the door, stepping into where my life would begin anew.


End file.
